A Whole New World
by team.aaf
Summary: AU 2. The boys are summoned and the foundations for IR are laid. Set June 2056. Rated K Plus.
1. Secrets and Holidays

**Right. New Story. This one is about when the boys first move to Tracy Island and discover what it is that their father is planning for them. This is based in the same AU as Forever Mine.**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental. Nor I would like to add do I own any part of the company Virgin…just in case. **

_**OK, some edits made thanks to a fair few pointers from cathrl. By no means are the chapters up here perfect… I may well have missed some hulking great mistake of mine that should be obvious after the all the help given. So sorry for any existing mistakes… I'm trying my best, and hey, we can all hope my writing may get a little better.

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_1. Secrets and Holidays

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"I call shot gun."

"What no fair! I wanted to ride shot gun."

"You're idiots. You know that? Neither of you can ride shot gun, you're not old enough."

"Said who? You're only a year and a half older than me. You rode shot gun with Dad when you were thirteen."

"I say, and that's final. If I'm piloting, I am not having either of the terrible two anywhere near the cockpit. I want to get there in one piece, not end up at the bottom of the ocean somewhere."

"I like the sea."

"Grandma says you shouldn't call us that, Scott. It's demeaning and disrespectful. We're just very badly behaved at times, that's all."

"Badly behaved? That doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Shut up, John."

"Yeah, that's not fair, John, they're too young to understand that they're annoying, irritating, infuriating…"

"Don't forget _extremely_ trying, Virge…"

"Thanks, Johnny. I nearly did."

"We're not going to get to ride shot gun are we, Gordo?"

"Nope."

The five Tracy boys had all been squashed in the black SUV for the past four and a half hours. It had blacked out windows, with the intention of it's occupants not attracting any kind of unwanted media attention, with Tracy Aerospace Corporation's current state of affairs about equal to the world-conquering status of Virgin, a decade after the turn of the century. It had been 'borrowed' from their father's multi-national company and furthermore despite being the largest car that their father could have lent his sons without giving them a mini-bus, they were still finding the lack of space uncomfortable and the thirteen-year-old-antics of the red headed youngster had become tiresome after the first twenty minutes of what was scheduled to be a five and a half hour journey. All of his older brothers had contemplated throttling the prankster at least once since the journey began, and now even his younger (hero-worshipping) sibling was thinking of opening the door and throwing him out.

Currently the seventh grader was throwing a ball against the cream leather headrest of his next eldest brother who was sitting in front of him.

"Cut it out, Gordon."

"What, Virge?"

"You know what." Gordon stopped for a moment and made an animated act of looking around his person as though the answer would suddenly appear beside him in a flourish of elucidation.

"Sorry, Virge. I really don't."

Suddenly Virgil swung round in his seat, nearly elbowing the quietly observing John in the face as he did so.

"Gordon, you know exactly what you're doing and I swear if you don't stop throwing that ball against my chair I will punch you." He ground out.

"Oh that. Sorry, didn't realise you meant _that_." Gordon held the small red and blue ball in his hand as Virgil turned back round to face the front of the car muttering something about them not being related.

"Alan!" The twelve year old turned to face his older brother to be met by the ball squarely connecting with his nose. If he hadn't of nearly broken the younger boys nose, the shot would have been worthy of congratulatory applause but as it was the excellent throw received a much more crude acknowledgement.

"What the fuck was that for, Gordon?" He shouted cupping his hands around the sore area of his face that had just discovered what the impact of a small but hard ball felt like.

"Alan, watch your language!" Scott shouted back from the driver's seat, allowing his eyes to momentarily glance backwards via the rear view mirror situated on the windscreen in front of him. He could see Gordon staring at Alan for a moment and wondered what was about to occur in the back of the vehicle they were currently travelling in.

"Shit, sorry dude. I thought you'd catch it." Scott had expected a shrug and for the young swimmer to move on to what took his fancy next as usual, but this simply offered him up a chance to shout and assert his authority a little more.

"Gordon, you to. Grandma would have had a bar of soap in your mouths." Scott replied to Gordon's comment. Having had enough of the ball zooming around their heads and not wishing to fall foul of the same fate that had just befallen his youngest sibling, John turned around to speak to his terror of a younger brother.

"Gords, listen. Please give me the ball; I really don't want to have to clean up when Virge kills you." The red head looked at his brother for a moment and sighed.

"Whatever, Johnny. Take all my fun. I'll just sit here and die of boredom instead." The few sentences were clearly overdramatic and he held out the small ball, face turned away in mock anguish. His older brother gladly took it from him. Feeling pity for the hyperactive child however he rummaged in the bag at his feet.

"Here, take this instead." He held out his PDA. It was a sleek silver machine, given to him on his fourteenth birthday by a regularly absent father, which had been fairly obviously 'upgraded'. Noting the confused look on the thirteen year olds face he added, "It's got games."

Suddenly much happier with the prospect of being allow to use the older boys pride and joy, Gordon exclaimed, "Cool! Thanks, Johnny." The young boy animatedly began playing the game with the volume turned up loudly. After a few carefully chosen comments from the driver and other passengers, he eventually pushed a headphone jack into the socket on the side of the machine, and placed the earphones in, well, his ears.

Slowly the youngest Tracy sidled over to his closest brother and began to watch over his shoulder. Oblivious to his surroundings Gordon let Alan continue to do this, but had he of been paying attention he soon would have shoved his only younger brother away. Just ten minutes of peace prevailed before another drama began to unfold.

"Scott?"

"What?" His older brother exasperated.

"Can we stop?" Alan asked meekly. The eldest Tracy looked back towards the brother second in age to himself, raising his eyebrows. John took the hint; evidently Scott had had enough.

"Al, we stopped half an hour ago. You can't need the toilet again?"

"Well not exactly…" Before he could finish that thought a dry heave ripped through his body setting off a chain of reaction instantaneously. Suddenly the passenger next to him was fully aware of his presence, and Scott immediately pulled off the road. Virgil bolted out of the car, closely followed by John, allowing the youngest to scamper from the vehicle to the grass verge, where he immediately emptied the contents of his stomach.

"Gross."

"Definitely."

"Grow up you two." Scott shot the middle two brothers a sharp look, and went over to Alan, where he gently rubbed his back, trying to relieve the sick feeling that had been building up in his youngest brother. After a few more dry heaves Alan nodded and accepted the bottle of water offered to him. Scott turned on the young prankster watching from a safe distance.

"Presuming you had something to do with this?"

"Huh?" Gordon was genuinely confused at the eldest Tracy heir's revelation. After all he had been sitting quietly in the back of the SUV minding his own business since his ball was confiscated.

"You're the one with the PDA. You know, Alan gets travel sick when he watches computer games."

"I wasn't sharing with him. I forgot he was even there to be honest, Scotty."

"Well you should have paid more attention, Gordon. Pushed him away. You normally have no trouble noticing an opportunity to wind someone up." He paused and realised the rest of his family was listening and staring. The pause was enough for him to realise it wasn't really the thirteen year olds fault. He pinched the bridge of his nose, creating an uncanny impression of his father. "Sorry. You're right; you weren't to know. Alan should have known better. Look, Alan can move up in the SUV and, Virge can move to the back."

Seeing he was about to get the short straw the third Tracy stepped in. "No you don't, Scotty. I am not going in the back with him." He nodded towards the next youngest boy. "Why can't, Alan just move up to the front with you?"

"Grow up, Virge. He can't go in the front because there's _your _art stuff all over the seat. Just get in the back. He'll ignore you; he was ignoring Alan after all. That's what caused this mess in the first place."

"I am here, Scott." Gordon idly threw in. He wasn't the kind of person to neither hold grudges nor get angry easily, but the whole conversation was starting to bore him and he really just wanted to get to the airport. The comment wasn't said with venom or bitterness, it was just Gordon's way of reminding his older brothers that he did in fact (although sometimes it seemed contrary to popular belief) have ears.

"Then you go back there." Apparently both Virgil and Scott had decided that they were going to ignore Gordon and continue their fairly pointless argument.

"I'm _driving,_ Virgil. I can't." His reasoning was sound and the mechanically minded younger of the two saw this, and realised he had been backed into a corner. He seemingly had no option to go in the back now but there would be hell to pay later for implying that he didn't particularly relish the idea of a further sixty minutes sat next to his red head brother.

The eldest blond sighed. "I'll go. Gordon can't be that bad. Can you?" He had been listening to his brother letting them all know he was still there and remembered this by addressing his brother directly. Gordon shook his head. "Sorted, Gords and me are in the back and Alan can go with Virge."

"Not sure that's any better…" Virgil mumbled, but seeing his brother had saved him, he relented and stretched an arm towards the car. He might pay for his comments later in a series of annoying pranks, but for now he was safe. "Lead the way." He said, in a voice much more cheerful than he actually felt.

Finally all the Tracy boys were back in the car, and the journey began again. Another sixty minutes and they'd reach the airport, and start the long flight to the mysterious island to which their powerful father had summoned them. There they would all find out what this whole secret was about, why they had all been dragged away from carefully planned holidays. Scott had been relishing the idea of his long break from high school – his Junior year had been a tough one; juggling towers of school work, the seemingly endless needs of his family, the strenuous requirements of sport, constant snide remarks about his father's business and a _girlfriend_ - he had been planning on spending some of his father's new found wealth and his time with his two youngest siblings, surfing in Hawaii, and he damn well deserved it in his opinion. It had been Gordon's idea, his love for water probably the culprit. John and Virgil had been planning a relaxing holiday with friends back in Kansas, after all it was a while since the days had been long enough to spend out in the fields playing together – but it was starting to look like those plans were going to be put on hold for a while. Still it couldn't be that hard to last just an hour together.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

All bar two of the car's occupants (the one driving and the one causing the nuisance) turned to look at the young redhead.

"Gordon, I might have said it would be Virge who killed you, but it might be '_cause of death: John_' soon on your death certificate." He stared frustrated at the boy for a moment before realising he couldn't hear due to the sound effects thundering in his ears. About to hit him to gain his attention, the thirteen year old suddenly felt the presence of six eyes on his person and looked up, pulling a single earphone from his ear; he turned to the others in the car.

"What's wrong? Alan sick again?" Oblivious to the annoyance he was causing. A flash in the corner of his mouth caught John's eye. A wad of pale green _Tickling-Taste Buds_ bubblegum.


	2. World Domination

**The second chapter in _A Whole New world_. The boys finally get ready to set off on their long journey into the unknown, complete with radio-active monsters and world domination to boot...**

**KimiRaikkonenFan2709: Thanks for reviewing again – seems we both like each others stories! Thanks for all the support!**

**tmw: Thank you and glad you like my stories!**

**Ms Hobgoblin: It good to know someone found the story amusing and that they liked it! **

**OK, enough of the exclamation marks; they do seem to have arrived with vengeance I feel… and back to the story! (See they just won't go away now!)**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

**Also I do not own anything to do with Cessna aircraft, before you throw something at me.**

_**Again, a few more of those much needed edits. I discovered (after Cathrl pointed them out – thanks for that) that in fact some of the ideas I had are wrong and need to be changed where possible, I found a fair amount of mistakes that I had made when I had entirely intended to write something else and, finally I found that my grammar still leaves a lot to be desired (although to be honest I should have known this already!).**_

_**There is a reason I gave up English this year (which was as soon as I could)… I can't spell more than about six-letter-long words and punctuation is my biggest enemy. How I passed with my school year's highest grades I will never know… Think I may have been subject to some supernatural help that day...

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_2. World Domination

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Finally the large black SUV pulled onto the side road that ran around the perimeter of Wichita Airport, Kansas. Small-automated forklift trucks darted across the road, taking baggage and crates to various aircraft on the site. The airport was small, but worked well as a reserve for the larger Kansas City Airport a further hour down the road. It took many small flights and private jets, making it an ideal location for Jeff Tracy to leave a couple of his top of the range aircraft there, in case of emergencies he had always said.

It was one of these craft that Scott Tracy was to pilot to the mysterious island in the Pacific where all five sons had been summoned.

"Third exit." Someone, he hadn't noticed who, seemed to believe that Scott was in need of directions.

"I know. I've been here before." Scott exasperated.

He'd had enough of the close proximity to his four younger brothers and was dreading the idea of the cross-continent hop they were planning to undertake. Scott, the driver of the vehicle, carefully kept to the five miles an hour speed limit, a precaution taken to protect both the craft and vehicles travelling on the perimeter road. It was a rule designed to ensure that drivers had enough time to concentrate on their surroundings. Aeroplanes taking to the air could be extremely dangerous at times; many airport employees could hold testament to that, as could the main reason that the forklift transporters were automated now.

As the third exit loomed, the eldest Tracy flicked on the indicator, filling the car with the soft clicking emitting from just behind the dashboard. While they were the only human travellers on the perimeter road currently, the automated vehicles had sensors designed to recognise the soft pulses transmitted by indicators, a safety design to avoid accidents and Scott wasn't one to ignore any type of procedure.

The gentle sound roused the third Tracy from the gentle slumber he had fallen into and he reached over to prod the sleeping form of his youngest brother. Shaken quietly awake, Alan brushed the sleep from his eyes and turned to look out of the window. The vehicles exterior blocked out most of the noise made by the loud jets of the aircraft, but the gentle rumbling of a nearby aeroplane firing up it's engines vibrated through the car, causing all the occupants to turn and look at the final sleeping form in the car.

The troublesome red head had finally fallen asleep while playing computer games on John's PDA, which had been carefully removed from his light grip. Now the remaining four Tracys feared that their last hour that had been peacefully quiet was about to be broken, they need not have worried however, the notoriously heavy-sleeper was living up to his hard earned reputation. All present released a collective sigh when Gordon simply mumbled in his sleep and let out a soft snore.

"Should I wake him?" John whispered quietly. Virgil shook his head and simply raised his finger to his lips. Silence would be a better option until they were ready to load up.

Looming ahead was the large private hanger, with TrAC emblazoned on its exterior. One of the doors was a jar, although due to the size of the hanger this meant a small truck could have driven in without actually opening the door further. Staring out of the window Alan wondered if his father's hanger was actually the largest in the airport or whether that was just his imagination. Money sure could buy a lot he decided. Just visible behind the alloy metal sheets that made up the walls was a large white aircraft.

It was a developed Cessna design. TrAC had brought the local Wichita-based company when it first started booming, and the new aircraft still kept elements of the original Cessna designs that had made them so famous the world over. The masterpiece hiding just behind the hanger door was the TrAC-Cessna 510; also known as the TrAC CMB (Citation Mustang Business Jet if you were being fussy). The old names of the Wichita-based company's planes were now being recycled and pinned on to the new aircraft that had been made in their place, albeit with the new tag TrAC that was recognised the world over.

There had been weeks of deliberation over what Jeff Tracy's company would be named. He had decided on Tracy Aerospace Corporation but had also decided that it was too much of a mouthful to become world renowned and thus had set about finding a shortened name that would appear on all of its manufactured goods. TAC, Jeff's intelligent blond son had pointed out, had the potential to be said; T. A. C. Which in itself was fine… but it could be pronounced 'tack', and that he had said made their products sound cheap, and well tacky.

It had been Gordon, who was now sleeping quietly in the back of the SUV that had pointed out that 'tack' sounded like 'track' and from there the eldest of his sons had pointed out that the 'r' in Tracy could be put after the 'T' but in lower case, creating the TrAC brand. It had been a moment of genius from all of his five children and their father had never been prouder.

Now all five of his precious sons were pulling into the shelter of his hanger, safe underneath the logo they had helped to create. Scott opened the driver's door and looked over his shoulder.

"Guess it's time to wake Trouble. I'm not carrying his cases for him." The blond nodded and set about the unfavourable task of waking the sleeping form that was his brother, who had travelled beside him. Then turning to the dark haired third Tracy, Scott continued. "Come on, Virge. Let's go and find out which one of these planes, Dad's given us. Better not be the twin prop, it was vibrating like hell last time I took it up." Virgil smirked, opened his door and the two brothers walked off to find Mick, the man in charge of their father's hanger. They found him perched on an upturned steel bin, eating a sandwich in the shadow of one of the smaller plane's wings.

"Hey, Mick." The older man looked up and smiled.

He had worked with Jeff at USAF, been his personal flight engineer. When his wife had had twins, he had pulled out of the Air Force, but struggled to find work. No respectable company wanted a man without any qualifications in this day and age, who had gone straight into the military at sixteen and whose only skill wasn't even certified. Eventually he had found work at an aircraft repair shop, servicing engines and air ducts for a living. When Jeff began TrAC he had looked around, checked out the competition as such, and found his old right-hand man in the run-down, shabby, bits-and-pieces workshop in a New York suburb, from where he rescued him and brought him to work for himself.

Mick loved seeing Jeff's boys. They were all full of life and a certain couple of the boys had even tried it on with his twin daughters, not that he would have complained if it had worked out. Who wouldn't have wanted his daughter to be happy with a dashing, intelligent and substantially wealthy young gentleman?

"Scott. Virgil. Your father said you'd be coming." He mussed the younger one's hair, and would have done the same to Scott if he could have reached. At five foot nine, Mick wasn't the tallest and Scott had grown into a wonderful specimen of a man, the seventeen year old standing at around six foot three, and incredibly his grandmother was adamant he was still growing. "I've got you a five ten, the one you probably saw driving in. I was getting it ready for you before I broke for lunch. You're father said you could handle it fine..." He paused. "…and it's large enough that you can put, Alan and Gordon far away from you, if the occasion arises." He joked.

Scott and Virgil shared a knowing glance; maybe that extra space would be useful. The aircraft was built for two pilots and five passengers. It had a toilet, which would come in useful on the long flight, Scott was sure. The young pilot walked over to the craft and ran his hand along her side.

"Thirty-nine eleven long, forty-two three wing-span, thirteen nine high." He murmured. Virgil made a gesture to Mick, suggesting something about the state of Scott's sanity, who laughed in return, drawing Scott's attention back.

"_Thirty-nine feet, eleven inches long_." He mimicked. "What are you a flying encyclopaedia, Scott?"

He shrugged and put his hands into his pockets, although he did step away from the aeroplane.

"It's going to be my job, Virgil. You wouldn't know about these, freshman."

"You don't think I get to hear enough about planes and other boring contraptions during the holidays at TrAC? I don't need it from you to, oh, and I'm not a freshman anymore, I'm 10th grade come September." He shot his eldest brother a sharp look.

"Come on, Virge, let's get the others." Mick waved the boys away, and set about prepping the craft muttering something about Scott being just like his father.

As they approached the car Virgil stopped. "Back there, you were insinuating I don't work when I'm at TrAC or at high school."

"And it dawns. So what if I was?" The older boy laughed.

"I do a hell of a lot more work than you, fly boy."

"Sure thing, Virge. Sure thing." Pulling open the tailgate on the SUV, Scott sighed at the amount of luggage five people seemed to need. Cases and cardboard boxes were stacked high. They were only supposed to be staying on the island for a week, maybe two. Scott for one wasn't planning on spending his whole summer in the middle of an ocean somewhere. He had female company he was planning on entertaining back in Kansas, specifically Hazel; after he had carried out his brotherly duties to Gordon and Alan. With a sigh he began to pull the first case out, ready to drag it over to the waiting craft behind them.

Stacking the cases beside the black vehicle, Scott paused to find out where his other brothers were. Moments ago Virgil had been right beside him and he realised he had suddenly disappeared; he hadn't seen or heard the others since they had pulled up in the hanger. They should have been unloading their own luggage. Looking around he spied all of his brothers together. Virgil was getting nearly as good as John at this sneaking business.

Gathered in a small ring his four youngest brothers were clearly up to something. John had noticed Scott staring and joined his elder brother at the SUV, helping to unload.

"What's so interesting?"

"What are you lot doing?" Scott countered. He motioned to John to pick up one of the cases to take it over to the TrAC Cessna 510, the fifteen year old went to comply and suddenly the young pilot realised John had just seen his _get out of jail free_ card.

Scott looked at the young blond genius. Not much ever seemed to go unnoticed by the intelligent teenager, although that probably had something to do with how, when all else failed, he'd hack into anything vaguely electronic if he was that desperate to know what was going on, not that his younger brother knew _he_ knew about his 'extra-curricular' activities.

Lifting a second case into his own arms the pair started across the hanger.

"So what were you doing?" The two brothers continued to walk, a silence present made Scott sure that his brother was about to lie to him.

"We were checking out the Island. Seeing whether there's any chance of radioactive monsters."

"Uh-huh." Scott muttered sceptically. In reality this wasn't far from the truth. The two youngest Tracys really had wanted to know if they were likely to find scary species on the Island, and the two middle Tracys had wanted to know what was really going on out in the middle of the Pacific ocean.

The genius, come skilled fifteen year old computer hacker had used his PDA's internet access combined with a couple of programmes he had written himself and saved to a small giga-byte-memory-flash drive and connected to the handheld, to break into the U.S. surveillance satellites and re-configure one of the less used ones towards the Pacific ocean, specifically the co-ordinates of their father's newly acquired land for just long enough to download some photographs of the area.

His efforts hadn't revealed anything though, and the fair haired youngster wasn't about to reveal his criminal activities to his eldest sibling, it was enough of a risk showing the twelve year form of his brother, Alan, who was renowned for having an inability to keep secrets too well.

A payment of such had been offered to Alan to ensure his silence. More accurately a blackmail list the size of Canada had been offered as an alternative to keeping quiet by Gordon to the youngest of the family. Alan had wisely agreed to the terms of secrecy, there were times when you just knew Gordon wasn't messing around, and this was one of them.

Apparently the middle of the Tracy boys had become bored with whatever it was that they had been doing, because as Scott pulled his head back out of the luggage-hold he was met with the grinning tanned face of his fourteen year old brother.

"Finished taking over the world?"

Virgil continued to grin.

"Heard John filed you in on our monster hunting past-times. Don't quite get how that's related to taking over the world though?" He cocked an eyebrow in his older brothers direction. "Unless of course, you're just trying to hide your own secret activities?"

"Ha, ha. I know you weren't looking for monsters, Virge. Give it up."

Ignoring his brother Virgil continued. "John's getting the last couple. Then we're done." Scott raised his eyebrows but shrugged off any questions that had been forming in his mind. Maybe he didn't want to know what his brothers had really been up to.

Any awkwardness was banished from the warm hanger air when Mick and John arrived with the last boxes. Scott stowed them safely in the hold and slammed the door shut; double-checking it was securely locked.

"All done?"

"Yup. We're ready to go when you are… and when they are." He nodded in the direction of the two youngest, still huddled around John's PDA.

"Well she's fuelled to the other side, but you know you'll have to stop at Peterson Airfield just outside San Francisco to refuel?" Scott nodded confidently. "I called ahead a few days ago when you're father said you were taking the trip so they're expecting you, they'll have the fuel ready. The tank's not quite large enough to take you all the way."

"Yeah, Dad said we would have to stop up by San Francisco, I checked it all out when he mentioned it." Mick nodded his approval. "Come on guys. Time to go." Scott called out to his brothers who slowly turned and boarded the plane. "Thanks, Mick."

"Anytime. You ever need anything just call."

"We will." A brief handshake was exchanged, cementing the already solid bond shared between the boys and their 'adopted Uncle Mick'. Climbing into the large white aeroplane, Scott pulled the door shut behind him and settled into the pilot's seat, instinct taking over. He barely noticed John come into the cockpit and seat himself in the co-pilots chair.

The busy flashing of lights became part of his vision, blinking on and off, imprinting the data into his mind. Microphone pulled down to his mouth, Scott heard his voice but barely recognised speaking into it. He was on autopilot, about to soar into the air, the one place where no one could catch him.

John sat contented beside him, knowing that there was no one he would rather have fly him somewhere, no one he felt safer with. The sky was the one place where Scott was completely and utterly in control and where, he was almost certain that very soon, there would be no one better in the world.


	3. Iced Buns and Whiz Kids

**Here is the third chapter in '_A Whole New world'_. Quite a short chapter this one, wasn't intended to be but I felt like I needed to get something up here soon! The next chapter will probably be a quite short, as it will be the second half of this chapter; if that makes sense. Sorry it took a while to post again… had a lot on; what with two jobs, college, Christmas and hockey… but such is my life!**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental, I say because I wouldn't like someone to get the wrong end of the stick or anything and beat me with it. I'm of the belief that that may hurt somewhat…

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_3. Iced-buns and Whiz Kids

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Coasting at around 30,000 feet, the white TrAC Cessna was tearing through the air at around half the speed of sound. It's sleek white lines carved a vacuum out behind it, leaving the clean air of the atmosphere to fight itself in it's desperation to fill the void. Scott Tracy was in his element; the high specification TrAC engines bolted to it's wings hummed perfectly beneath the flying contraption, reassuring in their constant drone.

John was sleeping peacefully in the co-pilot's chair beside him, awareness having long since left the young blond boy, leaving him to seize hold of an insomniac's precious hour or so of sleep. Of all of his brothers, it was John whom Scott worried most about falling ill. Whenever he was unable to find peace at night and wandered the old farmhouse back in Kansas, John was always around… never seemed to sleep that boy.

However in the present, things seemed to have become unusually quiet behind the cockpit, the normal murmur of noise having appeared to have died away in the main body of the plane, and although the young pilot hated to wake his brother, disturbing what he could only presume was much needed slumber, he needed to know more importantly, what was going on back there.

Scanning out towards the horizon Scott checked for any other craft or possible obstacles before briefly setting on the autopilot as he reached out to his sleeping sibling.

"John." He gently shook the fifteen year old. "John."

Slowly lifting his head, John shook the remaining wisps of fog from his head; his sleep was never deep and almost always restless, leaving him easy to rouse and normally _fairly _civil, whatever the hour. Meanwhile Scott had twisted back to his instruments and turned the aeroplane back over to his control… just felt, well, better that way to him.

"What you want, Scott?" Within moments he was as alert as before he had had the rest.

"Can you check on the others? They've gone kinda quiet on us."

"Sure." John stood up, stretching out his long limbs, before quietly opening the cockpit door and slipping out.

Earlier, before Scott had insisted that he get some rest, the fifteen year old had been on his powerful laptop computer, no doubt developing his illegal programmes to perfection, judging by the constant telling-hum of over-worked hard-drives. But when Scott had thought about taking an interest, he had decided he would rather not know what John was up to. It was safer that way he decided, with no way he'd end up implicated in court or by the FBI, and he wasn't joking.

From what Scott had seen, which he had evaluated to be just the surface, John was getting himself so far into the dark underworld surrounding electronic communication, he was likely to lose himself one day and not find his way home again; without a ball of uncoiled string and a bucket full of luck. The seventeen year old just hoped for his brother's sake their father never found out. That would be worse than the FBI and CIA together, but then John was smart, right? He wouldn't let himself get caught…

Back in the main cabin John was busy checking on his brothers. The third Tracy was sitting cross-legged on the floor listening to his music, a stick of dark, crumbly charcoal in hand and a sketchpad in front of him. He was drawing the scene before his eyes, the two youngest children, pranksters the both of them, who had fallen asleep on top of one another, no doubt having been in the act of plotting another dastardly trick.

Probably, it would all end with Alan taking the brunt of the consequences when they were discovered. That had always been the way, Gordon came up with the ideas and Alan paid the price of an hour or two of fun. Not that their father or grandparents hadn't always known Gordon was involved, they could just never find a way to prove he was behind it. Subtle requests for him to wash up after supper, or to help hang out the washing were as far as the punishments could go without actually suggesting that he was involved, and after all, both their father and grandmother were fair people. Innocent until proven guilty, or not, as it often happened.

It seemed as though Gordon had indeed inherited some of the same genes as John, giving him the potential to be incredibly cerebral, but the redheaded youngster had always found another way to use his gift, normally to the detriment of the rest of his family and anyone at his school. Not that Gordon had ever failed an exam or achieved below a B grade in his end-of-term assessments at that, which was what gave the rest of the family the impression he could take after John if only he wanted to.

Alan on the other hand was much more like Scott, not quite so academically gifted. He understood science and math but other subjects, foreign languages especially and heck, even English (the language he supposedly was fluent in), just confused him. If it wasn't that his monthly treat of being taken to the local motor race of his choice depended on his schoolwork, then he could easily have slipped to the undesirable position at the bottom of his school class.

Seeing that Virgil wouldn't want to be disturbed, John quietly padded back to the cockpit and folded his long body back into the chair beside his older brother.

"They were sleeping, Scott."

"Makes sense I guess."

"Yeah it does." John laughed. "You're kind of… I don't know… _dopey_ at times don't you think, Scotty?"

"Shut up John." Scott laughed, the playful banter continuing.

"Twice in one day… " His elder brother gave him a questioning look. "…I've been told to shut up that is."

"Maybe you should take the hint then, Johnny?"

"Don't _really _feel like it…" John grinned at Scott, who flashed a white-toothed smile back. Their play was interrupted by a small, spinning icon flashing up on the windscreen, beside the forever-updating 'intelligent' map of their location.

"Looks like we've got a call, Johnny." Scott reached out and lightly touched the view screen where the icon was desperately trying to attract his attention. Immediately a small portion (about a hundred millimetres square) of the electronically modified glass changed to black before filling with the shrunk image of Jeff Tracy's head.

A long moment passed as the connection was made, before the image became a real-time, live, video-feed.

"Father."

"Scott. John. How are you both?" John leaned over, his blond hair falling with gravity and slightly obscuring some of his face, from where it was roughly brushed back.

"We're very well, Father. On time and track."

"No trouble at the airfield?"

"None at all, Father. Pleasant people over there; even found some extra iced-buns to share around." Scott lightly cuffed the top of John's head at this observation.

"And you stay like a stick, _how_?"

"Exercise, Scotty. _You _wouldn't know about that." John earned himself another, albeit slightly rougher, cuff around the head for _that_ comment.

"Boys…"

"Sorry, Father." Scott shot John a hard glare, when he promptly collapsed into the back of his seat, silent laughter racking his slim body. "Did you need anything?"

"No. I was just checking that you were OK. What's your ETA?"

"As, John said, we're on track, so… an hour and twenty."

"OK, Scott. Well, call in before you land and I'll get up to the 'runway' with a car."

"Sure thing, Father. Speak to you soon."

"Fly safe." And with that the connection was cut and the smart-glass reverted back to its original transparent state. Again checking the airspace around them, Scott turned to face John.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Huh?" A puzzled look flashed across his almost 'Nordic' featured face.

"For a genius you sure can be dumb, Johnny. Was there any need to mention the iced-buns?" Scott cringed inwardly, as he imagined his father's soon-to-come lecture about looking after his body, in light of his up-and-coming USAF interview. The Air Force was his father's starting platform for vaulting himself into the space programme, and eventually paved his way onto the first manned-missions to the moon, to start the preparations for colonisation. Therefore suddenly, and in hindsight what should have been predictably, Scott's application had become all-important to his father.

"Yeah, there was actually." The hacker wasn't offering any information though; it would have to be wrestled from him.

"Care to enlighten the less intellectually talented aboard?" John had been about to reply _'not really´_ but from the look on Scott's face decided against it, although the truth wasn't much more appealing.

"Well, I kinda just wanted to see your face." Scott visibly counted to ten, levelled his glare at John and then roughly mussed the younger boy's hair.

"Three words." John raised his eyebrows, playing along. "Shut. Up. John."

"I know when I'm not wanted." John muttered under his breath, and, without delay, stood, turned purposefully away from Scott, and left the cockpit.

"Bloody whiz kids. Think they damn own the place." He shouted after the disappearing form of his brother. A quiet laugh and a _'whatever'_ was his reply. Brothers. Who'd want them?

No, wait. Scrap that.

Who wouldn't?


	4. An Open Invitation

**Hey, again sorry it took a while to post, and sorry it's not the longest _most_ exciting chapter ever… It's kind of the second half to the last chapter but just about long enough to be called one in it's own right. Hope you guys are all having fun in the build up to Christmas… I've finally got my Christmas shopping sorted… almost; I'm leaving it a bit late really. Anyways, doubt I'll post again before Christmas, so…**

**HAPPY CHRISTMAS!**

**Ahem Back to the story though…**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.

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**

_4. An Open Invitation

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_

The wheels ground to a halt, wisps of smoky, black rubber dissipating into the humid air, as the dark tyres began to cool after the ferocious braking forces they had been subjected to.

The island 'runway' was more a compacted earth track, worn in by frequent and recent landings, just about long enough to land a small aircraft on. Much greater in size and an aircraft would have to take off vertically, to stand any chance of _not_ being ditched in to the sea and endless rolling waves at the edge of the island.

The TrAC Cessna 510's engines whirred to a cooling hum, fans still working overtime to bring the temperature down to a bearable heat, whilst the on-board computer flashed up in bright lights across the cockpits windscreen.

Scott sighed, ignoring the workstation before him and turned to his younger brother.

"Wanna go and start getting the others unloaded, Johnny? I might be a while here." He flapped a hand in the general direction of the flashing questions, their entire purpose just to be answered by the seventeen-year-old pilot.

"Sure."

Seeing his brother get up and leave, Scott turned back to the smart-glass, the interactive flight-log now covering the entire section before him. Wasn't going to give up anytime soon he mused. Having finally finished dutifully filling in the much needed information, the young pilot sent the information back to the main TrAC building back in New York, from where, some over-paid adolescent would send the information to the required authorities. Nothing he had to concern himself with.

All _he_ had to do was print the report and file it away in the crimson ring binder, stored beside the large, material pilot's chair.

Despite all the electronic duplicates that would be made of the information, Jeff Tracy had learnt to fly the old-fashioned way with good, old hard copies of flight details, and was a strict disciplinarian for things being done the _proper_ way, including paper print outs.

_Elsewhere on Tracy Island:_

Jeff Tracy had become sidetracked, dealing with the latest stack of cream-coloured official letters and documents to pass by the recently renamed, Tracy Island. He had eventually turned off his desk-comm, the large amount of calls he was receiving, was just becoming damn annoying. It was only as he had heard the screeching whine of a descending plane, that he had realised he was supposed to be somewhere else. Namely, collecting his sons.

He had shouted strident apologies to a small Malaysian man, whom he had almost knocked a tray of steaming coffee over, as he had entered the office and Jeff rushed from the room. The forty-one year old was now impatiently tapping his hands against the large, plastic steering wheel of a Jeep. The terrain of the island wasn't meant for rapid movement and even the off-road-style vehicle was struggling, it just wasn't moving _fast_ enough.

The ex-astronaut, come recent billionaire, had heard the aircraft land on the island, and knew it was only so long before Gordon, hyperactive to the last, got bored and dragged Alan off, to look for the villa. Wasn't something he could risk, considering…

And so Jeff was desperately trying to eek a couple more miles-an-hour out of the already straining car.

Suddenly, as though some God, somewhere, had heard his silent pleas, he could see the dusty outline of an aeroplane through the thick foliage surrounding him. Turning the steering wheel sharply right, Jeff decided he didn't care about the actual track, and veered off-course straight through the trees, towards the small gathered group on the runway. His sons.

_Back at the plane, moments before:_

All five of the boys, having finished collecting their belongings (and there were a lot of them), were now standing on the dusty ground, in the shadow the plane's left side wing; John having stewarded the youngest two passengers off the aeroplane and towards the luggage hold just to get them out of Virgil's hair. They'd been annoying the teenage artist/musician since they had been woken up, just before the landing. However right now, it was someone else's turn to be wound up.

"Scott?" The seventeen year old closed his eyes; calmed his breathing and then turned round to his youngest brother, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last five minutes.

"What, Al?"

"You _sure_ he's coming to get us?" Same question. Again. Something in Scott began to snap.

"Of course I'm sure, Alan. He said he'd come, so he's coming. Right?" Alan nodded his head meekly; an angry Scott was definitely not something he wanted.

"Right. Sorry, Scott." The fair haired twelve year old plopped himself down on one of his bags, and then jumped straight back up, as though he had just sat on a porcupine, or something.

"_What, Alan?_" Scott was definitely not in a mood to be crossed and Alan almost sat back down again, as fear of painful repercussions took hold, but the excitement bubbling inside of him prevented him doing so.

"I can hear a car!" He almost jumped up and down in anticipation. "Listen!"

Indeed, just a few moments later the distinctive roar of a petrol engine could be heard above the sounds of tropical bird call, and swiftly, although shockingly might also be added, a large yellow… truck… no too small, car was nearer… appeared between the green leaves that made up the jungle surrounding them.

And in the driver's seat…

"Father!" The enthusiasm-filled twelve year old began to lope towards the car before John grabbed him from behind.

"Idiot. You wanna get run over, Alan?" Shaking his head the boy struggled free and stood still, but the moment the engine was cut, he ran over to the Jeep, almost yanking the door from it's hinges in his desperation to reach the car's only occupant.

"Hey, Alan. Calm down, all right?" Rapidly realising his place, Alan stepped back from the car and allowed his all-powerful father to climb out of it.

"Yes, sir."

"Less of that frowning too, Alan. Today's a good day."

"It is?"

"It will be." Leaving his youngest son to puzzle over his last comment, Jeff crossed the short distance to the rest of his family in three easy strides, and affectionately looked them up and down. "Boys…"

As if the one word was an open invitation to the world, all four of the remaining children rushed around their father, hugging and asking probing questions. Predominantly, _why were they there?_

"Don't worry. I'll explain it all…" He put up a silencing hand as the questions began to pour forth once more. "… Back up at the villa. Later."

Knowing that their father's word was indeed as good as law, all five Tracy boys halted the questioning. After all, they had waited a long time already, what were a few hours more?

Stowing the luggage in the back of the chartreuse-yellow Jeep, the _almost_ completely reunited family climbed into the vehicle and the eldest of the group started the engine, ready to take his children back to his newly acquired home.

_The family's_ newly acquired home.


	5. Unknowns

**I hope you all had a good Christmas, and here is the next chapter. The thing is, that this got to a point where it was practical to stop before I had thought it would. So, it's not quite the length I planned, but maybe, the next chapter, which has a lot more explaining in it, may be longer. But don't worry (as if you would…) any content missing will appear later on.**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

**I would also like to pay tribute to one, Albert Bierstadt, and his painting, The Departure of Hiawatha.

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**

_5. Unknowns

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_

Sunset was making itself known, scorching burning sky with the brilliance of red, gold and amber streaks. It was beautiful, better than anything they had ever seen back in Kansas, and much more stunning than the mesmerising lights of night-time New York. Possibly, it even beat the sunset painted in a particular image by Albert Bierstadt, a painter that Virgil had studied in his freshman year of high school. The colours of the disappearing sun in _The Departure of Hiawatha _had always fascinated the fourteen year old.

Virgil felt his fingers just itching, desperate to break out a new pot of smooth acrylic paint, and decorate his paper in the same imagery that floated in the breeze before him now.

The last landscape he had painted was sitting, covered with an old, tatty sheet, in the large barn out the back of the farmhouse. He'd been painting it for Grandma, but Gordon had spilt the cup of water for washing paintbrushes, on it, as he had raced past with Alan. Virgil had found he strangely didn't want to fix the mess and, hadn't had the heart to start again. And so, he had stuck to still life and images from his head for the previous couple of months. _Maybe_ it was time to start painting sunsets again…

But instead, he was perched on the edge of a pumpkin coloured couch, in his father's office, surrounded by strange and wonderful collections, and his brothers. Eight o'clock sharp, they'd all been told. No later. Yet, here they were, at a half past eight, still waiting for their father to show up to his _own _meeting. Strange, he thought, a military man through and through, his father was _always_ punctual.

Dinner had been a pleasant affair. A light soup to start, fresh fish and salad for the main, and a delicious fruit crumble to finish. A small, quiet Asian man had served the meal, and after dinner, when compliments were humbly received, he divulged that he had learnt to cook at a small Belgian school, but that it was, _nothing special_.

More interesting matters than the chef's modest personality had been learnt though, during the evening meal.

A young girl, impossibly, amazingly beautiful, was seen taking three trays of food to somewhere else in the house. OK, so it was a given that one tray would be for their father, who never managed to make it to join them for dinner a little earlier. But, the other two…

In addition, the chef had introduced himself as 'Kyrano', a manservant to all those who went by the name 'Tracy', but the young girl was never brought before the boys, let alone given a name. From glimpses she looked to be, maybe Alan's age, possibly Gordon's even.

All of this, simply added up to mean, that there were at least three unknowns, living with the boys, and they were determined to find out who they were and why they were here. It just wasn't acceptable that first their father thought he could drag them out to a remote island, somewhere, and leave them for hours wondering why, and _then_ not introduce everyone they were expected to live alongside for the next week or so.

"If he doesn't come soon, I'm going." Scott turned suddenly away from the picture he had been studying; an old-style paper and ink photograph of his mother and father, back when Jeff had just joined NASA. He didn't know his father still kept photographs of his mother around, not after… well, he just didn't know. "He's late, and he's damn wrong if he thinks that we want to sit around and wait for…"

Before he finished the angry sentence, the door to the office swung open, and the metal frame was filled with the well-built outline of their father. The rant died on his eldest son's lips.

"Sorry I'm late. I had other things to deal with first."

He strode confidently into his office and sat down on the soft, leather chair behind the birch-wood desk. Sensing the meeting may finally be starting, the others present settled back down. John and Gordon sat on the couch, with Virgil balanced on the arm; Alan sat, legs curled underneath himself, on the plush black fabric chair, that had been pulled back away from the desk. Scott though, was stood, back straight, looking directly at his father.

"Wouldn't you rather sit, Scott? We may be a while." The seventeen year old firmly shook his head, and re-adjusted his stance. "I suppose you were wondering why I brought you here? It's rather complicated to be honest. In fact, so much so, that I am needing to wait just a few moments more for my engineer to arrive."

Maybe that was one mysterious tray and unknown down.

"Anyway, maybe while we wait you could tell me how you've all been?"

Small talk passed the time. Accounts of Gordon's latest swimming achievements, Virgil's concerts and Scott's antics with a certain young lady were the main topics that drifted though the humid air of the office. Something John said made Scott turn an extremely interesting shade of red, but he was shared his blushes, when a young man (maybe a couple of years older than Scott) rushed into the room, before his father could hear John repeat his comment.

He trailed rolls of blueprints and papers, which fell to the floor behind him. Depositing the armload of work onto Jeff Tracy's previously clean desk, the young man stood up to his full height, no longer stooping to catch the loose documents. He was actually quite tall and very thin, lanky almost, awkward definitely. The man stood before the dominating desk, looking as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in months and as he turned to address his benefactor, he pushed thick, blue-rimmed glasses back up his nose.

"M… Mr, ah, Tracy. I have all the w… work you a… asked for. D… Do you, ah, need me to s… stay?"

"I would like that, Brains. You may be able to help me explain more to my boys. I'm not too fantastic with the technical side." The engineer nodded and stepped back, towards the side of the room. Unnoticed, and ever the gentleman, Scott had bent down to pick up a couple of the fallen blueprints for the self-conscious young man, but his face had turned to convey a look of sheer puzzlement at what he found.

"Father… These _can't_ be right? That'd never get off the g…" His father jumped up, moving faster than most of his children had seen in a long time, and snatched the drafts out of Scott's hands.

"I told you I'd explain, Scott, so wait like I damn told you." If his eldest son looked shocked at the outburst, Jeff Tracy didn't notice it. He merely replaced the plans on the desk, with the others, and sat back down, calm as he had been before. "Well, now that we're all here, I'd like to introduce the engineer behind the project I'm about to show you… Brains."

He gestured broadly to the pale man, hiding in the shadows of a large pot plant.

"H… Hello." He gave a kind of half-wave to the rest gathered, who nodded or returned the greeting. He smiled, a whole lot more at ease than when this loud bunch of children had first arrived, but still not completely at home around them.

"As I said, Brains has been, well, the brains behind what I've been planning." He allowed himself a small chuckle, returned only by the engineer, himself. "Ahem, well anyway. It's hard to explain what this all is, and I'll leave anything technical to those better qualified, such as the question you were going to ask, Scott."

Virgil ventured a query.

"So, what _have_ you been planning, Father?"

"Do you remember when you were younger, Virgil, you said you wished you could save the world? Turn back time, and help all the people who needed it?" The fourteen year old nodded, but it was Alan who spoke.

"Then, you've built a time-machine?" He looked at his father, eyes wide with wonder.

"Not quite, Alan. But almost as good." He took a moment to compose himself. Or maybe it was just to add to the tension. "Boys. I've built a rescue organisation."

Almost true.

In fact, all he needed was a couple more years, and a crew.


	6. For Better Or Worse

**Hey all. Sorry it's been a while, New Year soon! Yay! This has been written a while, just I hadn't had the time to check for errors. Hope I've found them all!**

**The K+ Rating is for some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

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_6. For Better Or Worse**

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**__Earlier:_

The vibrantly coloured Jeep was lumbering up the inter-twining dirt tracks, towards the sun-lit villa, five of the six occupants pressed up against the Perspex windows, desperately wishing for a glimpse of the strange house they had seen from the sky.

Jeff Tracy, having lived on the island full-time for the past couple of weeks, and having visited the island multiple times in the very recent past before that, was in no such state of desperation to view the family shelter. Instead, he focused on following the right trail back to the house; there were many on the small patch of land, lots leading into the jungle-type vegetation and possible danger. That part of his new acquisition was still to be fully explored.

Slowly, the object of their deepest, current desire crept into view.

"You brought _that_, Father?" Jeff spun round in his seat to face Virgil, who was squashed between his blond-haired older brother and Gordon, causing him to take his eyes off the 'road' and Scott to anxiously wonder if it was his place to pull up the hand brake and stop the car.

"Excuse me?"

Virgil blushed a deep crimson, realising he had indeed, spoken aloud.

"I mean… it's just… nothing." The fourteen year old dropped his head, and said no more; after all it wasn't now, and never had been, his place to question his father. Jeff turned back to watch the track eek past the front windscreen, settling his eldest son's frayed nerves, slightly.

"It's big."

Jeff briefly glanced sideways towards Scott.

"I thought that you boys might need a little more room than you have back in Kansas. After all you're all growing and, well, I guess you all have different interests."

"You, er… had this built specially?" John decided to brave a question; their father seemed very… _unaware_ of the confusion and complex issues he was bringing up, and the fifteen year old was exceedingly cautious of this.

"Of course. You can't have thought that it _grew_ here?"

"No, I just meant… well, I didn't know if it was here when you purchased the island." Silence grew around the group as Jeff stopped the Jeep in a sort-of shelter. More just a couple of sheets of corrugated aluminium, pulled together over a couple of timber supports, but after all, this was the middle of the Pacific, proper protection wasn't needed, and it wasn't like there were any thieves about.

The youngest two boys had stayed abnormally quiet, not making any comment on their new home. Alan carefully pushed open the Jeep door and clambered out of the vehicle, closely followed by Gordon. Together, they stood and surveyed the building, situated just at the end of the pebble walkway.

A Bunyanesque, white building stood before them. Three storeys high and a good thirty-five feet across (from what they could see), they had no idea how far back the building might extend. The front seemed to be constructed of pale concrete and glass panels. From where they stood, the two boys could see into two of the lower level rooms; a kitchen/diner, filled with colourful fixings and what appeared to be a type of games room, overflowing with the latest in leisure appliances.

Upstairs looked like bedrooms, but they couldn't be certain, slightly tinted sheets shielded their views. The redhead of the group's attention was suddenly diverted though. He nudged Alan.

"Hey, Al. Look." He pointed to something in the garden before the house.

"Whoa."

By this time Jeff had joined his boys, and was stood with them surveying the grounds.

"You like it, Gordon?"

"Yeah! I mean… er… yes, Father. I do." Jeff smiled at his son's obvious excitement.

"I was only going to have one, but then decided if I wanted an Olympic swimmer in the family, we might need a bigger pool." For not the last time in the next twenty-four hours, Gordon was stuck for words.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Well, why don't we head inside? You must all be wanting a little refreshment after your journey."

Jeff led the way in, up through the gardens, past the glistening pools and through a metal-framed set of patio doors, his children following behind.

_The present, Jeff Tracy's office:_

Everything about this trip so far had been big. The journey, the house and now, this.

"A rescue organisation?"

"Yes, Scott. A rescue organisation. A few names are being bounced off various sounding boards I have, and right now, _World Rescue, TIS, _and _Global Rescue, _are the few at the top of the standings. The name, though, is irrelevant to be honest, the purpose is more important."

"TIS?"

"TrAC-International-Support. I don't think it wise to have the TrAC brand in the name though, Virgil. Brains and I were doing some thinking, and not everything that is necessary, will be completely above-board, according to the U.N.G."

"Could we slow down a minute, Father?" Jeff Tracy nodded his agreement to his second son. "Firstly, this is a global thing? I had presumed it was going to be just like another, I don't know, fire-service for the U.S.A.? Secondly, is this just a publicity stunt for TrAC? If so, what does it have to do with us? And lastly, I have feeling that 'not completely above-board' is more along the lines of entirely contravening the laws set out by the United Nations Government."

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose. He had expected some queries, just not so early on in the explanations. Still, he supposed he hadn't factored John into the equation, that boy always caused his own special brand of trouble at the most awkward of times.

"You have some valid points, John. For your first question, yes, the drafts are for a worldwide organisation, and as you will discover, this is no fire-service. To your second point, if this were just for exposure then _surely_ I would want it all legal and wouldn't even doubt the practicalities of putting TrAC in the name? Your last point, I can't deny it. Yes, this would be showing utter disregard for U.N.G. laws."

"What about us though? How do we fit in, Dad?"

"I'll get there, Gordon. Just hang on a moment more. Brains?" The twitchy, young man stepped forward activating a holographic presentation. Images, of flashing silver darts and gigantic green monsters, flaming buildings and shattering earthquakes filled the space.

"This rescue organisation would be world-wide. It's intent, to save those who normally could not be saved. Certain events in the very, recent past have caught my attention, and, for some reason, sparked my imagination, I suppose. TrAC is generating so much money right now; it's the perfect foundation for something of this scale. The flagship would be a reconnaissance craft, the main purpose to get a field-commander on site and in charge as soon as possible."

The silver dart reappeared, hovering effortlessly above the projecting-board, spinning 360 degrees on an invisible axis.

"However, equipment would need to be moved, and this…" A green, bug-shaped craft, with reverse-swept wings and a stubby nose replaced the sleek lines of the sister-ship. "…would be achieved with a second, much larger ship. Brains, is currently ironing out a few design faults, and construction can begin in a couple of weeks. As to where you fit in… Obviously a large crew will be needed, to man the crafts, and rotate shifts to ensure twenty-four hour cover. Right now, I'm working towards around ten active members to start, with the possibility of expansion at a later date. Of course, I would like to give you, my sons, first option on the jobs. This is going to be a pioneering institution, and well, I would like to have you all on board."

That said; the tension and expectation in the room seemed to literally hang before the teenagers gathered. Oddly, it was the youngest that spoke first.

"I'm in. Well, I mean, I know you're going to make me finish school first (though I don't mind dropping out), and I was thinking I might like to do some racing or something _properly_ first before I probably, eventually joined you at TrAC anyway, after all, pee-wee karts are starting to get a bit boring. But, yeah, give me a couple of years to grow a bit, so I don't look so young, and I'm in."

All of his four older brothers turned to look at the twelve year old. Normally it was Scott who spoke first and then, he spoke for the lot of them. Yet, here was Alan, readily agreeing to what looked to be a slightly foolish idea of their father's.

"Me too." Scott spun round at almost mach speed, and stared, completely taken back by his next youngest brother's words. "I've got conditions too. Like, I want to do what you said outside, go and win some gold medals at the Olympics and all, bar that though; right now I'm in. How cool would it be, to tell all my friends at Oakley how I'm going to get to save the world."

Jeff went to open his mouth to say something, unexpectedly though, Scott cut in.

"Thanks for the offer and all, father, but, er, we need to _all _have a talk before we agree _anything._ Alan and Gordon don't really know what they're chatting about."

Jeff studied his eldest son for a long moment, glancing images of how much he had grown and matured while he had been away so often on business, flashed through his mind, but too fast to grab hold of and examine. Instead, he found himself agreeing.

"Sure, Scott. Take five, go to the lounge, hold your conference or whatever it is you want, and I'll get Kyrano to bring some drinks." The seventeen year old looked positively shocked at his father's allowance of a break, but didn't want to push it and have the permission revoked. Maybe, there really was a compassionate side to his father, a side that was just beginning to appear and show itself.

"C'mon, guys."

He ushered all four of his brothers out of the room, down the well-lit corridor and into the lounge room, lighted by the just beginning to set sun. They filtered in, and flopped on to soft chairs scattered about.

"What were you guys thinking, huh? Agreeing with him without stopping to consider it first?"

The seventeen year old turned on his two youngest siblings, his arms stretched out wide in exasperation. He looked at them both, hard, and then twisted away from them.

Gordon stood, walked purposefully around to where his eldest brother had turned away and looked Scott defiantly in the eye. Their father was always saying how it was easier for people to understand you, _and_ respect you, when you spoke to them face-to-face.

"I think it's a good idea, Scott. Saving the world and all."

"Yeah." Alan agreed, jumping up. "Gordo's right. You always say we should pay more attention to '_current affairs'_ and all, and what better way? I say we do it."

Scott sighed, frowning at the bold, little boy before him for an instant, prior to returning to face the rest of the group. Before Scott could speak though, Kyrano bowed himself in, with a silver tray of ice-cool drinks balanced in his hands.

"Mister Scott. Sirs." He placed the tray down on a side table and excused himself from the room. The beverages remained untouched.

"All right then, we vote. Who says we go along with this half-brained scheme and join Dad and_ International Rescue_, or whatever?"

Slowly, four hands were raised into the sky. Virgil and John looked slightly unsure, as though voting against the way Scott clearly thought maybe wasn't the best idea, no matter what they thought. Alan and Gordon though, found no qualms with raising their palms high into the air.

Majority vote, and Scott lost out; something in the back of his mind was telling him to stay well away from the plans of his father, but there was nothing he could do now. In his opinion, democratic systems were a waste of space; most of the time people didn't even know what was the right choice for them. Now give him the military any day, people who _knew_ the facts, making good, honest decisions, with the best intentions for everyone in mind. _That _was why he wanted to join the Air Force.

However, the voting was done, and currently it was time to go and give the verdict to his father, for better or worse.


	7. Promises and Friendships

**This chapter again didn't quite come out how I planned. The original chapter 6 (possibly even it was supposed to be 5) is now set to be chapter 8 if that makes any sense. It keeps on being pushed backwards by other pieces of the story that just fit in better before it (which was most of chapter 6 and now this section). Oh well, hoping that you like the story anyway.**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

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**_7. Promises and Friendships_**

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Lining up, straight-backed and facing forwards, like boxes on a newly stocked shop shelf, five boys stood before their father.

Positioning themselves in age order; listing from the innocent, blond-haired twelve year old to the protective, dark-haired seventeen year old; the almost, completely teenaged group, faced their only present parent.

Scott stepped forward, like a new recruitment speaking to a higher-ranking officer. Except then, they rarely started the conversation, nor held the power over where it was heading. "We've had our conference, as you put it, sir, and we've come to a decision."

Jeff Tracy stood, walking forward to perch on the front of his specially hand-made, one-off desk, looking every bit the stern general.

"And…?"

Scott took a deep breath, looked briefly back, meeting John's eye, and seeking support. The blond nodded his head slightly.

"We're in, sir."

A smile crept across his father's face, almost reaching his eyes. Then, it was back to business.

"Good. I'm glad to here it. Now that I know where you stand, though, we have many more details to talk about." He looked around at the neatly organised room, the tidy bookshelves, the balcony that opened out on to a view more spectacular than most could imagine. Then, he looked at the children gathered before him, after all in spite of everything, all things torn away and taken back to the basics, that's what they were. Children.

Ranging from close on, pristine neatness of his eldest to the scruffy, mess that was his second youngest, they all had one thing in common. They all looked tired, except for a couple where exhausted would have been closer.

For the first time in a long while, Jeff found himself easily slipping into the role of a protective, loving father.

"However, I want you all to sleep now. A lot's happened today, and you could all do with a good rest. We'll talk more tomorrow." But, no matter what strange, and unusual feelings he might have been experiencing; the commanding tone was not something he could lose easily. A couple of his sons, gave him a sceptical look, fears of newly drawn dreams being torn away from them, surfacing. "I promise."

Unsure of why he had promised, another thing he hadn't had the courage to do in a long time, Jeff smiled at those drawn together before him. And with hopes of a promise to-be-fulfilled, all five exited the office, leaving just Brains and his employer to stand in the fading light.

"Maybe you should get some rest too, Brains?"

"I… ah, I thought, I m… might go and have a… another look at some of the, ah, plans, actually, M… Mr. Tracy." He nervously pushed the thick-rimmed lenses of his glasses back up his face.

"Obviously I can't force you to stop working, Brains, like I can my sons. But, I would appreciate it, if maybe you would think about my request. You've already done more than enough, to get my ideas _this_ far."

Brains seemed to contemplate his options for a moment. "M… maybe I will, ah, retire to my r… room. It, ah, seems a l… long time since I last s… spent much, ah, time there."

"Indeed."

The young engineer, turned to leave the room in the same direction as his new 'friends' had just moments before.

"Goodnight, Brains."

"G… goodnight, Mr. T… Tracy."

The greying patriarch returned to sit behind his desk, resting his chin on steepled hands.

Some time later, when the only light bathing the island was that of a crescent-moon, two people were awake and moving in the house. Neither knew of the other, but still they met. Pulling his head out of a wood-effect cupboard in the kitchen, John Tracy found himself face-to-face with a small Eurasian girl.

She immediately blushed, and went to leave the room, but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her.

"Hey."

The girl still looked like a deer caught in a set of headlights.

"Are you OK?" She nodded, but still made no attempt to speak to him.

"What's your name?"

Brought up polite and respectful, she couldn't ignore a question such as this, which required a spoken answer.

"TinTin. But, I should not be here, if my father knew…"

"Hey, it's OK. Really. I probably shouldn't be up and wandering either, so what say, neither of us tell, huh?" The girl, TinTin, pondered this for a moment, and then nodded, agreeing. Reaching back into the cupboard, John pulled forth a bag of cookies, and placed them on the counter. "How about I find us some milk, and then we go and sit out there?" He indicated towards the lounge.

As if in agreement, the girl walked towards the refrigerator and took out the cartoon of milk. John took it from her smiling.

"Thanks."

Moments later, the tall fifteen year old, and little Eurasian girl, entered the living area, one bag of cookies and two glasses of milk in hand. For a long time they sat in silence.

"So, how old are you, TinTin?"

Staring down into her milk, she answered. "Thirteen, sir."

John almost laughed.

"Less of the sir, TinTin. Really, I'm John _and_ only two years older than you."

TinTin seemed uncomfortable though.

"But, I am just the daughter of your father's manservant. It is not my place… John." She said the word, as though trying it out, to see if it fit. Sensing the young girl's uneasiness however, John changed the subject.

"So, why are you up so late, huh?"

"I found I was not tired. I often walk the lower floors of the villa; just… normally I do not have company. Why, may I ask, are you not resting?"

"I never sleep long. Never have. Drove my mum and dad mad, when I was younger. I hope you don't mind me keeping you company."

"Not at all. I may be wrong for asking, and I am sorry if so, but you say 'mum' and not the usual American pronunciation of 'mom'?"

John seemed to consider this, pausing. Gathering his thoughts, and ignoring memories, he replied. "My mum's English. So we, kinda just copied how she always said it, I suppose." Another pause. "Where's your mother, TinTin?"

"I do not know. My father does not speak of her. I believe she died, how I do not know, either. But she was from Europe, that is all I have managed to discern."

John came to a temporary halt, her answer had been so readily said, and so boldly too. Looking at the young girl, he saw no sadness in her, just, maybe, he wasn't sure, but… regret? Regret, that she had no memories of her mother…?

"So, er, you live here all the time?"

"Indeed, that is correct, John. Although, your father has so kindly offered to pay for myself to attend a small school in England, as my father will not accept money for his work. I believe I am likely to start there in the fall."

Something strange there, why was Kyrano working for nothing? _No one_ in their right mind would put up with his father _and_ his brothers for nothing.

"That's great, TinTin. I go to school in Kansas, where I thought I was spending my summer… that's presuming we are going back there come September."

Time passed and idle chat was exchanged between the odd couple of an ice-blond boy and chocolate-warm girl, exploring things that hadn't been spoken of in a long time; the lack of parents seemed to keep coming up. Maybe it was important to find something in common…

TinTin, small, petite, but not really all that shy, was the kind of girl that loved with her whole heart, was loyal to the last and funny in the most surprising of moments. Thirteen years old and already blessed with soft facial features and a slim frame, had she of been just a year older, John could have, quite possibly felt the strange rumblings of another kind of feeling, deep in his stomach. Instead, he felt just a need to protect her, as though she were another sibling, or something.

He, though, was different. Almost white-blond hair adorned his head, framing strangely Scandinavian features, as though he was the son of a Viking, a raider from the cold north. Neither of his parents, nor any of his grandparents could quite fathom where his looks came from, but he soon proved to _definitely _be a Tracy. Fiercely faithful to those he trusted and stubborn to the last possible moment, he was, without doubt one of Jeff's children. However, his tendency to break away from the rules, to see quite how far they stretched was, unquestionably his mother's.

Still, the peculiar gathering of two very different, yet similar at the same time, teenagers sat and talked till the sun began to rise over the leafy green, full-of-life island.

"Maybe, we should think about stepping back inside. You know, freshen up and all before the others get up?"

"Indeed we should, John. After all, my father would not be please to discover that I had spent the night conversing with one of his employer's sons. He would say it was not my place."

"Well, then he'd be wrong, TinTin. Really, he would."

"Thank you, John. You are a good…" She struggled to find a word that fit.

"Friend?" He supplied.

"Yes, you are a very good friend, John." The over use of his name, made John smile. The young girl seemed to be so happy to use his Christian name; he couldn't help but share in her enjoyment.

"And you, TinTin, are a good friend too." She almost blushed at the expressed opinion, but caught herself in time, it would appear as though she were embarrassed, maybe making her new friend uncomfortable, and that was not something she wanted to do.

Together they stood and retired back into the house together, placing the empty glasses on the kitchen sideboard and the empty paper bag in the rubbish disposal.

"I was going to say goodnight, but I suppose good morning would be more suiting?"

"I believe so. Good morning, John."

"'Morning, TinTin."

And then, they went their separate ways, back towards the lives they led in the bright, revealing light that was sunrise.

For one, it was as a servant's daughter.

For the other, it was as a billionaire's son.


	8. Random Acts of Kindness

**Sorry this took so long to get round to posting. Had a lot of things on my mind, especially my exams in a couple of days. This chapter has been around for a bit, just hadn't got around to posting it. Next one is going to be a while as I've got some of my AS-level exams this week. Eek. I'll post as soon as I can.**

**Sorry for any mistakes, still need to make final edits on this chapter. **

**The K+ Rating is for the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

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_8. Random Acts of Kindness _

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Brains sat in the hidden underground laboratory, intensely studying lines of harlequin-green code that rushed across his computer monitor. He gently tapped a chewed pencil against the edge of a veneered workbench.

"M… maybe if I, ah, just change t… these parameters…" He wondered aloud to himself as he pressed a few plastic keys on the keyboard before him.

Immediately the lines of code changed, replacing horizontal movement with strange, random patterns.

"That's n… not, ah, right." The young scientist puzzled. The tapping became harder as he tried to think through his problem. "M… maybe…" Again he input a few keystrokes, and this time the code returned to the horizontal scrolling, seemingly doing what he wanted.

"T… that's much, ah, better." Contented Brains saved his work and shut down the computer system.

Standing up he stretched, long arms reaching out far before him, knocking over a stale cup of coffee. Sweeping up the mug, he grumbled under his breath and dabbed at the ruined papers beneath with his handkerchief, before giving up and crumpling them into a ball, which he left behind on the messy desk.

Still holding the empty cup, the engineer headed up and out of the laboratory, towards the main villa. His stomach was telling him it was breakfast time, not normally something he held much regard for, but recently he had noticed himself changing. Paying more attention to his own person really, not all that much of a bad thing when he actually thought about it.

Upon reaching the kitchen though, Brains almost turned and left again.

It was filled with loud noise, and five hungry boys filling their appetites with all sorts of food. Jeff Tracy seemed to be able to some how ignore it all, hidden behind his newspaper. Perhaps he had the disposition of an angel, or maybe it was just years of practice. Either way, it was a far cry from the former peaceful meal times he had enjoyed.

Seating himself at one end of the oblong table, Brains carefully pulled a piece of toast from the holder and buttered it. Jeff lowered his paper, apparently he was well aware of what was going on around him.

"Glad to see you could join us, Brains. I wasn't expecting you."

"Well I, ah, n… needed a break, more t… time to, ah, think."

"Fair enough." At that moment Kyrano appeared from the kitchen bearing more food. No sooner than he had placed them on the table, Alan was putting more pancakes on his plate, and Gordon was eyeing up the freshly scrambled eggs.

Virgil was being slightly more restrained with his food, taking things, as he wanted them, not piling his dish as high as possible. Scott was eating in a similar fashion, focusing much more on energy-foods, carbohydrates and such; he was planning a long run later.

As usual John wasn't really touching his food much. Probably the snack food from the night before had ruined his appetite, his family though, just thought he wasn't a morning person. Looking up from where he was pushing food around his plate, he caught a glimpse of the girl from the night before, through the connecting door to the kitchen.

He smiled in her direction, and TinTin smiled back, before her father caught her eye and dragged her away from the counter she was at, to do something else. Next time Kyrano entered the dining area, John was determined.

"Kyrano?" The small man looked almost shocked and turned to face John.

"Yes, young sir?" Jeff had lowered his paper at the tone of his second son's voice; Scott had stopped eating to listen too.

"You never mentioned you had a daughter yesterday."

Kyrano took a step back, if he had of been subject to a different temperament, he may have glared into the kitchen. Instead, he answered politely.

"I did not wish to interrupt yourself and your fellow brothers during your evening meal, with such trivial things as my daughter. She is not of any importance to any of you, Master John. However…" He paused, contemplating his options. "…with your permission, I would gladly introduce her." He looked for reassurance from Jeff, who raised his eyebrows, suggesting it was Kyrano's choice.

"I'd like to meet her for one." Scott answered, suddenly breaking into the conversation.

"Very well." Kyrano excused himself into the kitchen, and returned moments later, TinTin following dutifully behind, dressed in a small, green and yellow, flowery skirt and a pale yellow, vest-like top. Again, John smiled encouragingly at the young girl.

"This is my daughter. TinTin." She smiled shyly, belying her true nature, and gave a small, kind-of curtsey, holding out the edges of her skirt as she did so.

"Nice to meet you, TinTin." Scott held out his hand, which she politely took, and shook gently.

"Hey." Was all John seemed to have to say, so Scott glared at him, daring him to say no more. "Er, nice to meet you." The girl giggled slightly, their second meeting much more amusing than their first.

Virgil looked up from his food and nodded in her direction. At least they knew who the girl was now, but his mouth full of food prevented him saying anything. Gordon and Alan seemed to be nudging each other under the table though.

Pre-teen and thirteen years old, the pair found the girl attractive and vile at the same time. Strange hormones meant they couldn't decide if they were into girls, or whether they were just 'yucky'. And so, Gordon gave a strangled hello and Alan a small wave, before they returned to their nudging and food.

Then Kyrano ushered his daughter from the room, for a stern conversation about when it was her place to be seen, and when it wasn't. This time though, given confidence by John the night before, she stood up for herself. In any case, _she_ wasn't employed by the all-mighty Jeff Tracy, _and_ was a guest on his Island. She had every right to be seen.

Shocked by his normally placid and understanding daughter's outburst, Kyrano ordered her out of the house to think about her actions in the peace of nature, which was where a still unsure Alan and Gordon later found her. In the meantime, another meeting was due to be held in Jeff's office.

Gathered around, this time, much more comfortably and at peace, except for Scott who still wasn't sure about his father's plans, the meeting began. This time, the logistics of the idea very much under scrutiny.

"I expect that the organisation will be up and running in maybe two, three years?"

Brains stepped forward and said. "Y… yes, Mr. Tracy. Those, ah, are indeed the, ah, t… timescales that are, ah, b… being worked t… to. Probably though, it will, ah, b… be the outer of t… those two times, considering the, ah, workforce."

"Of course, so three years, say. Obviously three years, will leave Gordon and Alan only sixteen and fifteen, and it's highly unlikely that either of you would be allowed out on rescues at that point, but by all means you could be training hard, ready to join a couple of years after the start. Virgil, you'd be, what? Seventeen? Depending on the others involved at that point, maybe you could be an active member. John, Scott, clearly you two could be."

Scott cleared his throat.

"What about USAF?"

Straight to the point as always, Scott gave Jeff something to ponder about for a moment.

"Well, three years… You could have a couple in the Air Force, while the construction is going on. Then, come and join."

"But, what about the conflicts of interest, and what if I decide that I like the Air Force more?"

His father looked at his eldest son, weighing him up, wondering whether he really would turn his back on the rest of his family.

"Then that's your choice. It always will be."

With Scott the only one to have any problems with the initial plans, they ploughed on, into the more detailed points. What different machines were being planned, and such-like. Promising his sons for the second time in as many days, Jeff said he would take them on a tour of the 'facilities' after lunch, and they began to leave. He called Scott back though.

"What's going on, Scott?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Why are you so against my ideas? None of the others have seen a problem with them."

Scott flopped down on to a chair before his father's desk, and rubbed a hand through his hair; like the five year old from long ago on that dusty track in Kansas, he decided he couldn't lie to his father.

"I'm worried, scared that the others are going to go running out into something they don't really understand, that they aren't prepared for, and then, that they'll get hurt. I guess that's all it is. I'm worried for them."

"Do you really think I haven't considered this every night before and since I decided to tell you? I'm not prepared to lose any of you boys, not for anything. They'll be safe, Scott. I really mean it, I won't let them get hurt."

His father's tone suggested he really did mean it, and Scott did something he hadn't done properly since he was a lot younger. He hugged his father, wrapping his arms around the older man's chest and resting his head on his shoulder. Stunned by the out of character gesture, Jeff gently rubbed his eldest's back, until he let go.

"I mean it, sir. You let them get hurt and I'll never forgive you." The seventeen year old said softly, before exiting the room.

"Trust me, Scott, I'd never forgive myself."


	9. Winds and Waves

**Hey all. Wasn't as long as I thought it might be to post this. I wrote it when I probably should have been revising, but hey... Exams are all over... so back to my sporadic updating!**

**The K+ Rating is for the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

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_Pastels were laid out, colours from lemon cream to raw umber, bathing in the glow of mid-day Pacific sun. Stretched out beside the tray, was a fourteen year old boy, resting his back against the cool rock of an imposing cliff side. Gentle breezes ruffled his light brown hair, blowing it this way and that, including in front of his eyes, which was most annoying. 

Fiercely pushing the stray locks backwards again, he replaced the pastel he had been working with and stared contentedly out to sea. Just two days ago his life had been turned upside down. He and his brothers had arrived on this island to find out their father's grand plans for a rescue organisation.

Yesterday had been filled with facts and figures; most of them not passing over his head as such, as he understood most, just, he wasn't really listening. To be brutally honest, he didn't care how much fuel it would take one of the proposed crafts to fly from the Island to America, so long as he was on it, and part of the 'action'.

He had wanted to spend the summer in Kansas, and of course his father's strange ideas were exciting and could lead to almost unimaginable prospects, but he was missing the long days with his grandmother and friends back at the farm.

So he had left the house early that morning, a rucksack of paper, colours and food on his back, and set off for the furthest beach he could find. Forty-five minutes of walking had landed him at small stretch of sand, that would soon be destined forever to be known as 'Maxwell Beach' in public, and 'Danger Zone One' in private between the boys.

Right then though, it was the perfect place for Virgil to stretch out and relax, which he had. Some time after arriving, post snack-time, he had unpacked his art supplies and set about recreating the scene before him. Content with his work, the young teen put down his pad, and lay back on the sand, looking up at the apparently clear, cloudless sky.

Staring at the big patch of blue above him though, Virgil noticed something in the distance that hadn't been there when he had started drawing, looming dark clouds of swirling winds and torrential rain. Still only just above the horizon though, he wasn't worried, but decided he would start back up to the house in an hour or so though.

_Same time, different place;_

Jeff Tracy sighed and turned off the computer monitor in front of him, and swivelled in his chair to face another display. Reaching forward, he prodded a button at the bottom centre of the screen, which immediately blinked in to life, showing the face of a grave looking young woman. Instantly the annoying beeps that had been playing on repeat ceased.

The woman was about early twenties in age, with dark brown hair and a long fringe covering one side of her face. Bright green eyes stared though the monitor at Jeff, who barely noticed instead focusing on the insignia of the woman's dark overalls.

"Mr. Tracy?"

"Yes."

"My name is Heather Allen, I work for the South Pacific Weather Station, and your land falls into my area." The badge on the women's right side suddenly made sense. A churning wave surrounding deep violet letters sown into the material.

"Excuse the bluntness, Miss Allen, but what exactly does my land have to do with you?"

"Sorry, I was forgetting the whole point, Mr. Tracy, and please call me Heather." The girl briefly looked towards a screen, the lights reflected in her clear eyes. "There's a storm headed your way, the newly named 'Hurricane Maxwell' in fact. It's my job at S.P.W.S. to let all those who fall into my area know, and to provide any advice if needed."

"How long?"

Pulling a slight face at the rudeness of this man's tone, she replied as though nothing was amiss. "'Till it reaches you…" Glancing at the display again, judging the speed in which the swirling mass was moving and how far it was to the island in question, she replied. "…Maybe half an hour till the first rains hit, then I'd say at current speeds, you've got fifty minutes maximum until the main storm reaches you."

"Not long then?"

"No. Sorry about the lack of warning, the beast appeared from nowhere. Must have changing air pressures out at sea somewhere. We'll have to find them soon, before they whip up a bigger lot of winds."

"Indeed. Well thank you anyway, Miss Allen. I'll make sure everyone and everything is ready." His tone showed he needed no advice; either that or that he wouldn't listen if it were given.

"Anytime. Well, good luck, and have fun with the winds."

Flicking the long hair hiding her face aside, the young woman smiled sweetly at Jeff and then the connection was cut. Jeff leant back in his chair, sighing yet again. Time to call in the troops he supposed. Standing up and stretching, the ex-astronaut went in search of his sons, finding two of them in the lounge, a pack of cards in hand.

"Scott."

The seventeen year old jumped at the deep voice, and immediately stood up to face his parent.

"Yes, Father."

"Where are your other brothers?"

"Gordon and Alan were outside by the pool last time I saw them, and Virge said he wanted to think, so headed down to the beach."

"How long ago?"

"I don't know… Early… This morning." Scott looked confused at the aggressive tone in his father's voice. Something wasn't quite right. "What's going on?"

"I just had a call from the Weather Station, we've got a storm coming, and I'm not talking any regular Kansas-sized storm." Straight away Jeff's primal instincts to take charge kicked in. "John, I need you to go downstairs, and find the laboratories I showed you before. Brains will be in there and you need to tell him about the call. He'll get the shelter ready and while he does, I want you to get Gordon and Alan. Then all of you are too stay put where Brains says."

John nodded, sombrely taking the information on board and immediately set off on his quest, blond hair rapidly disappearing around the corner.

"What about me?"

Jeff turned, as though only just remembering Scott.

"You're to come with me, Scott. We need to find Virgil."

_Back at the beach, shortly after;_

The clouds closed in much sooner than predicted, the winds picking up speed and momentum as the travelled closer. The tide swept in up the beach, and Virgil, who had been dosing, suddenly found that he couldn't leave the small patch of sand, trapped by water and waves.

Pushing rising fear back down, he surveyed his situation. The tides were blocking the area where the smaller beach joined to the larger, main sands, covering the small distance to the cliff in waist deep water. He could try to wade through it, but something Gordon had once said, bounded around in his head.

'_The sea gets undercurrents sometimes, they pull you out deeper.'_

Whether or not Gordon was actually right, staring out to the churning, black waters, the fourteen year old decided he definitely didn't want to risk it. Instead he looked upwards at the cliffs, hoping to find a path, or a lower section of rock that could be climbed easily. In the place of easy-going boulders, he found smooth rock, worn down by the tides and waves of centuries, impossible to climb without assistance and equipment.

Beginning to feel the panic bubbling beyond a level he could control, Virgil sat back down, resting his head in his hands. Normally a rational thinker, he couldn't make his brain construct a way out.

Trapped and alone, he almost turned to trying mental telepathy, in an attempt to contact his eldest brother. However, he settled for praying, desperate pleadings for someone to come and save him, in exchange for anything at all, so long as he could live.

Up at the villa, a rescue of sorts _was_ coming, in the form of a father and a brother, with an almost dangerously active protective streak. Boarding the recently purchased speed boat that had been deemed a requirement when living on a island by Jeff, the pair set off in the increasing wind and waves, desperate to find a stray sibling and son.


	10. A Rescue Of Sorts

**Sorry this took so long to update, just kept forgetting to post it if I'm honest. I'll try and be a bit better in future, but no promises.**

**The K+ Rating is for the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**_

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_10. A Rescue of Sorts_

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Rushing down the strip-lighted corridors, John desperately tried to remember the way down to the isolated laboratories. Took a wrong turning at one point and ended up at a door, that looked suspiciously like it lead to a hanger. He left that well alone, not wishing to endure the wrath of his father if he popped up in the wrong place, had happened before and wasn't something he planned on revisiting.

Dashing past another side corridor, he pulled up short and took a couple of steps back, staring intently down the hallway. Deciding, that that direction was in fact the one he wanted to be following, he made the right turn and set off at a near sprint again, almost running into a large metal door, as he skid around the corner, black rubber marking the clean floors.

Recognising it from his rapid tour the day before, John realised that he didn't know the entry code for the small data pad beside the door. Thinking on the spot, he reached into his jeans front pocket and pulled forth his PDA, still with the computer link-up wire attached from earlier. He powered the small device up and ran his fingers around the edge of the door data pad.

He felt the small telltale depression of a hidden compartment and pushed down, finding to his surprise that the grey-plastic cover simply fell off. _Not great defences, Dad, _he thought briefly before continuing with his task. Revealed below was a connector-port, a standardised USB in fact. Muttering a quick 'thank-you' under his breath, John coupled his PDA up to the data-pad via the cable.

A few finger-presses on the touch-sensitive screen loaded up one of the more basic programmes John had written. Numbers began to flash across the display and three seconds later the light above the door lock flashed green and the fifteen year old hacker unplugged his device and turned the handle of the entrance.

Swiftly descending the stairs on the other side, normally shy, and quiet; John forgot all of this for the moment. Having sensed that there was something very wrong from the tone of his father's voice, the fifteen year old just wanted all of his brothers safe, standing before him.

"Brains? Mr. Hackenbacker, sir?" He called out to the vast space that was Tracy Island Laboratories. He stalked between the tall shelving units and workbenches looking for the elusive, young engineer. "Brains?"

A noise to his left startled him, making the young boy jump into the air and spin round to face whoever or whatever was there, instinctively raising his arms protectively before his face.

"J… John?" Brains sounded confused at the younger boys stance, as though he was expecting a hit squad of Marines, or something.

"Brains." The hacker sounded positively relieved to have found the blue glasses, white coat clad genius, and lowered his hands into jeans pockets. "My father said to find you, and tell you the Weather Station called."

"What d… did they say, ah, John?"

"A storm's on it's way in. Imminently." John fidgeted, wanting to get away and find his younger brothers.

"Oh, I, ah, s… see. I'll get the, ah, s… shelter ready, t… then. If you, ah, collect your, ah, b… brothers, and bring t… them back here, I'll, ah, t… take you to the s… shelter."

The blond haired teenager nodded, exiting the room at a fast walking pace, but not before kicking over a fire-extinguisher (located on the top platform of the entrance stairs) into the path of the heavy metal door, impeding it's ability to close. It meant for easy access later, when he returned. Plus, he didn't really want Gordon and Alan to see 'his way' of opening the door.

Then John dashed off back in the direction he had come, towards the outside; raging winds and all.

_Same time, open water (almost);_

The little crimson speed boat raced through the violently churning water, bouncing across waves, spitting water up into the faces of it's two occupants. The younger man aboard raised his voice and shouted, to be heard above the sound of crashing liquid.

"He would have gone somewhere quiet. Not the main beach, Gordo and Alan had said they might go down there."

Jeff nodded to show he had heard the message, never taking his eyes off the water rolling over the front of the small vessel, hands certainly not leaving the throttle and steering column, eyes searching out the coast line through half-shut eyelids. Scott was watching the edge of the Island slowly pass by, searching for any sign of his younger brother, as the boat made sluggish progress over each white-tipped crest.

"There's a beach, a little off to the side of the main one. He might have gone there, it would have been one of the first places he reached."

"OK."

Scott momentarily contemplated the fact that he actually had no control over where the boat was going, and therefore, the point in his father wasting time to tell him his plan was minimal, annoying him. However he had little time to think about it, and he supposed there was little else of comfort to speak about.

Rising over the peak of another wave, that shouldn't have by rights been there for another half an hour according to the S.P.W.S., the little speedboat rounded another jutting outcrop to where the small, said beach was. Scott let out a yell, causing his father to take another, harder look at the area, through droplet-lined eyelashes.

Clinging to an almost-ledge, the water level having ascended at an astonishing rate; was his missing son.

_Back up at the villa, down weaving corridors;_

John urgently ushered his protesting brothers down the same corridors he had travelled along twice already today, hoping that his father and two other siblings were already in the laboratories. Pulling the door open, John kicked the cylindrical extinguisher again, this time out of the way of the door, and the three boys passed through.

"Brains? I've got Gordon and Alan." The trio stood at the bottom of the steps for a moment, waiting.

"G… good. What about, ah, y… your father and other b… brothers?"

"Are they not here? My father told me just to get these two." The pair in question were currently staring at all of the things that they hadn't had to the time to admire before during their father's brief, and somewhat disappointing go round; glass jars filled with strange liquids, rows upon rows of computers all busily calculated and designing, arm-like machines constructing large sheets for something.

"I'm, ah, s… sure he'll a… arrive soon, John. C… come on, let's get you three in the, ah, s… shelter."

Obediently they followed their new friend through his workspace, careful not to touch anything, but intrigued all the same by the amazing feats held within. John planned on have a talk with his new 'friend' soon, it appeared they had much to discuss in his opinion.

At the back of the room was another door, this one without a keypad lock, in case admission was needed when power was down, despite the main laboratories being perfectly weatherproof and safe.

It was a space, hollowed out from beneath the volcanic island-side, but with another exit hidden behind a reinforced tool-steel cover, presumably that lead straight to the surface. It was furnished with school-style plastic chairs, boxes of what looked a lot like military rations and a radio set.

There was something though in the room, that none of the Tracy's had expected, something that drew Gordon and Alan's attention immediately. The elder of the pair went straight over to look and held out his hand to it.

"H… her name's, ah, Amy." Brains supplied. A small, tabby cat crept out from underneath a chair to nose Gordon's hand, who gentled ruffled her fur in return. "S… she stays down in the, ah, labs w… with me normally."

"Hey, Amy." The feline purred, moving to rub up against the young swimmer's outstretched arm.

"You never said you had any pets." Alan accused of Brains.

"It w… wasn't r… really important. TinTin or, ah, Kyrano, bring h… her down a t… tray of food each evening, and, s… she's happy to, ah, stay down here most of the t… time. G… Goes outside every now and, ah, a… again though. C… can be quite the, ah, explorer, w… when she wants t… to."

While Alan exclaimed something that sounded rather like 'cool' and went to pet the animal with his elder brother, something clicked in John. The third tray of food… his father, Brains and Amy had received the trays, _not _another person like they had all thought. He'd have to let Scott and Virgil know, when they arrived, that the third and final unknown, was no longer that.

'_Maxwell Beach', same time;_

Pointing frantically into the waves, Scott yelled to his father.

"He's there."

Seeing the stranded boy, he pulled the boat around, fighting against currents desperate to keep him out at sea, to reach the young teenager. Pushing the throttle up, the vessel struggled free of the equilibrium holding it in place, pushing it's way through the water, reaching the cliff face just as Virgil lost his grip on the wet rock.

Scott saw his younger brother's head fall below the water, while his father battled against nature to keep the boat in place, and waited desperately a few seconds, hoping to see the brown hair resurface. It didn't.

Finally finding a way of keeping the boat in the same place (at an exact point the thrust equalled the drag from the sea and thus meant stationary motion), Jeff could stretch his attention further and took a moment to realise what had happened. Forcibly moving Scott to take over his job, he stripped off his weatherproof coat, and jumped into the twisting waters.

Strangely, everything was much calmer under the surface, looking up you could still see the waves crashing into the rock face but you didn't feel it so much. The water was still fairly clear, sand was being kicked up more than usual, but visibility wasn't exactly terrible. Spinning around in the water Jeff looked for his falling son, but saw nothing.

Breaking the surface, he gasped for air again, and then went back under, and in doing so caught sight of something large moving downwards in the water to his right. Kicking hard to propel himself along, he stretched out a hand, and grabbed a fist-full of material, dragging it behind himself towards the surface and boat.

Lifting his head from under the water to take in another mouthful of cold, rain-soaked air, Jeff pulled his drowning son up. Drawing energy from deep within himself, he took a firmer hold of Virgil and lifted the boy so that his head was also out of the main body of the ocean.

Scott saw and managed to manoeuvre the boat slightly closer, at the same time as his father continued to kick towards the boat. Releasing the controls for a moment, the seventeen year old reached over the side to pull his younger brother aboard, and was set to help his parent onto the boat also, until an order was barked to get back to the wheel.

Reluctantly obeying, already unable to ignore a direct command, Scott left Jeff to haul himself onto the speedboat, and once he was safely over the plastic-edged side, he pushed on the throttle, wanting nothing more than to be out of the damn, frigid water. Glancing back behind him, he saw his father hunched over Virgil, but couldn't allow himself to dwell on it; the ocean was a far more pressing matter.

Jeff leant close to his middle child's face, trying to feel some air being expelled, and when he couldn't, the ex-astronaut pinched the fourteen year old's nose and breathed sharply into his mouth once, pulling back to see if it caused any reaction. Beginning to fear the worst Jeff prepared to try again, when Virgil's head suddenly moved sideways as he coughed up a mouthful of water and sand.

"Shhh. It's OK. You're alright now." He soothed, as the adolescent struggled to replace the oxygen he needed, still not opening his eyes. Turning towards where his eldest was standing, he raised his voice. "Scott, I need you to come here and look after your brother. It's too dangerous for you to take the boat in next to the pier."

Nodding in agreement and seeing the sense, as he had never been in the powerboat before, the duo exchanged places, Scott kneeling down on the wave-drenched metal floor beside his brother.

"Hey, kid." He reached out, placing a cold hand on his brother's shaking arm, before removing his own jacket to place that, and his father's previously discarded one over Virgil. "It's gonna be OK now, just you wait and see."

Sitting more comfortably on the deck, Scott pulled Virgil up close to him, wrapping his arms around the younger boy, holding him tight and whispering quietly into his ear, ignoring the pools of water now seeping through his clothes. And that was how they were still sitting when Jeff turned off the motors to the powerboat, and turned to see Scott gently brushing wet, curling hair back from his brother's forehead.

He noticed the blue colour his middle son's skin had taken, and the same colour that was beginning to stain Scott's lips, and made a decision.

Leaning down, he scooped the youngest of the pair up off the floor, coats and all, into his arms, as he used to back in Kansas when the boys fell asleep in front of the fire. Grabbing Scott's arm at the same time, he pulled his eldest into a standing position, and knowing he would follow, headed straight off towards the villa, through the pounding, mind-numbing rain.

Stalking down the corridors, leaving reflective, water puddles behind him, Jeff shouted out to his closest friend and engineer. A reply was made as the laboratory door swung open before the trio, revealing a concerned looking John and an anticipating engineer.

"M… Mr. Tracy?"

"I need a bed, now, for Virgil."

Brains took one look at the still, blue-ish looking teenager, and hurried off to clear one of the beds, that would, in a few years, form part of the most technologically advanced medical departments in the world. Jeff followed and laid his son down, standing back to allow the genius near, before turning to face Scott.

The seventeen year old was shivering violently, despite the somewhat humid air that surrounded the Island, and his father stole a blanket from the pile Brains appeared with, to wrap around him. Glancing over, he saw his other son being well taken care of, blankets piled up high on top of him, heaters directed straight at his cold form.

And then, something that made him smile.

Virgil opened his eyes, looking confusedly around, but it didn't matter, as there, in those labs and sheltered rooms, his family was together and safe.


	11. Changes and Acceptance

**Hey all. Here is the final chapter in the story. There's another short one-shot already written and that will be posted up in a couple of days. Beyond that, there are a few ideas rolling about inside of my head, so you'll have to wait and see what ends up actually on paper (so to speak).**

**Just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story, especially Hob (sorry can't spell your whole name off the top of my head, just know that you've been signing your reviews with that...) who's been so supportive throughout. Thank you.**

**Well, I hope you've enjoyed this little insight, and I hope to be seeing you all soon back on here with another story.**

**The K+ Rating is for the inclusion of some mild coarse language.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belongs to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

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_11. Changes and Acceptance_

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It was important for him to be near his brother. He'd promised no one in particular, a long time ago (twelve long, distant and fading years previously in fact), that he'd always look out for his family, no matter what happened.

That's what made his father's propositions so hard to agree to. It was his burden to be forever looking over the figurative shoulder, making sure no harm came to those so close and so dear to him. And it was that same promise and burden that meant he just couldn't bear to leave Virgil.

Deep underground, in the ice-cool, half-empty laboratory the quickly unpacked bedside lamp was the sun and moon, nature having no way to show whether it was morning, noon or night, through the thick layer of earth, compacted down above the laboratories. The only indication was the lack of regular visits from his other brothers, who had appeared to be just as nailed-bitingly, worried as he was.

Having had a close encounter out on one of the cliff surrounded beaches, everyone had believed Virgil was over the worst of his near drowning experience, when he opened his eyes and asked what had happened. Scott though, had been more cautious, not daring to believe it was over, as nothing ever seemed to be that plain, simple and black and white in his experience, and yet again Murphy didn't let the seventeen year old down.

Sometime during the night, Virgil's temperature had begun to increase.

It had been instigated with a simple, whispered comment, strained out from between tired, salt-cracked lips. "I ache all over, Scotty."

And then it had worsened. Chills and violent shivering had filled the fourteen year olds body, just as, during the shadowy and murk-filled times of the Great Plague, the bacillus _Pasteurella pestis_ had filled that of Londoners; though for Virgil it wasn't likely to be quite as fatal.

As his blood and lymphatic systems raced to create white blood cells to fight off infection, the young boy found an unlikely ally in his father's engineer friend, one Hiram Hackenbacker. But his help hadn't been forthcoming; prompting had been needed, his shy nature preventing the genius from stepping in straight away.

Noticing the change in his brother's condition, Scott had called out to Brains, asking for his much needed (and, it was important to note, _wanted_) help. The quick application of an oral thermometer, held in place by the seventeen year old, as Virgil was beginning to shiver too much to hold it in place himself; confirmed the suspicions that the teenager was indeed, developing a fever.

"You p… probably caught a c… cold from the water. You're, ah, temperature i… is up at one-hundred-and-two, I'd l… like to, ah, try and bring it down a l… little if I can."

Virgil nodded slightly, pulling the blankets up around his neck as he did so. Noticing Brains added,

"I'm a… afraid, I've got to, ah, t… take some of the b… blankets, Virgil. It's not t… too good for you to, ah, h… have that many. T… They're not h… helping your, ah, temperature."

Seeing the adolescent's pained look, Scott decided to help.

"It's OK, I'll sort out the blankets, Brains. You do whatever else you need to."

"R… right. Well, I'm g… going to, ah, get some a… antipyretics and some, ah, i… ice chips for Virgil. I'll b… be back in a m… minute."

Nodding his understanding, Scott set about the unfavourable task of removing all but one of the blankets that had covered Virgil since he had first been brought to the medical room, a few hours ago. The younger boy had moaned at the sudden drop in warmth, but hadn't managed to find the energy to fight back. Then, Brains returned, a brown glass bottle and a clear, plastic cup of ice chips in hand.

Handing them over to Scott, he said, "Virgil n… needs to take ten millilitres of the, ah, a… antipyretic and then y… you, ah, can give h… him some of the i… ice chips. They'll m… make sure he doesn't, ah, g… get dehydrated and will, ah, help b… bring down his temperature."

Being an introvert at the best of times, Brains immediately delegated the job to Scott, not being filled with enough confidence _himself,_ to administer the medicine to Virgil.

"What is this though?" The eldest Tracy heir eyed the brown bottle's sluggishly moving contents wearily.

"It's, ah, p… perfectly safe, S… Scott. It's, ah, a form of, ah, Tylenol, a f… fever reducing a… agent."

Still not convinced, he poured out a prescription spoonful of the thick, pink liquid and supporting his brother's head with one hand, he spoon-fed the medication to Virgil, who grimaced at the taste.

"I, ah, n… never said it would t… taste nice, Virgil. The Tylenol we have on the island, is, ah, s… supposed to be taken as a t… tablet, I made the, ah, liquid v… version myself, so it's, ah, b… bound to taste d… dire."

Still the youthful musician said nothing though, but gratefully accepted the fragments of ice offered by his elder brother. The fourteen year old shivered more as he let the ice melt within his mouth, but was just thankful of something to take away the sandpaper, raw dryness, and that darn, awful taste.

Content that all that could be done to bring down Virgil's fever was happening, Brains left the pair alone, returning to his laptop and detailed plans for super-sonic aircraft.

Scott spent the rest of the night watching his brother sleep, offering him the cooling pieces of frozen water when he woke, and softly running his hand through the brown hair while he slept. As dawn approached, outside the cold interior of the laboratory, red and gold ribbons billowed across the island and morning made itself known through the arrival of Jefferson Tracy.

"How is he?"

Brains got up and walked over to the bed, where Scott had finally given in to the tempting state that was sleep, resting his head against the edge of the mattress. Looking down over the sleeping teenagers, he smiled.

"A lot, ah, b… better, Mr. Tracy. Virgil's t… temperature is down after it r… rose last night, and, ah, he's l… looking much better."

"What caused the fever?"

"I have, ah, b… been searching the m… medical intranet, and I, ah, b… believe that Virgil caught a c… cold while out in the w… water, and his brief d… drowning experience caused a l… lowering of his immune s… system."

"I see. So long as Virgil gets better, then _this_ time, we'll put it down to misjudgement on everyone's behalf, whatever the cause was. However, if he does, the moment he begins to deteriorate I want to know, Brains. Then we'll take him straight over to the mainland. Virgil must be the priority here."

"O… of course, Mr. T… Tracy."

The stern, stiff backed TrAC founder turned towards the exit of the medical bay. Before leaving though, he slowly looked back over his shoulder to Brains, who had re-seated himself at the desk, returning to his computer.

"Brains."

He looked up.

"When Scott wakes, send him up to the villa to get some food. And tell him that's a direct order." Then, Jeff left.

_Two days later, outside beside the pool;_

"I suppose this means we're staying then."

"I guess so."

The three eldest Tracy boys were sat around the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the cool water, while Alan and Gordon splashed about inside of it's blue tiled volume. Yesterday, temperature restored to normal, Virgil had been released from the soon-to-be medical bay and had returned to regular life with his brothers. Well, as regular as life got when your father went a bought a tropical island paradise, in the middle of the world's largest ocean.

"I guess it's goodbye Kansas though?"

"I suppose."

"I'll sure miss it; especially some of the guys from Oakley." There was an almost awkward pause; John wasn't exactly feeling like talking, it was clearly written in his facial expressions (the one that showed his mind was just about as far from his current physical position as possible) so instead Virgil turned to the other present boy.

"You haven't said anything, Scott?" The tall young man looked up from where he had been intensely studying the clear swimming waters.

"I need to talk to Dad." He stood up abruptly and went to leave the decking area.

What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Johnny." The blond raised his eyebrows. "Well, not anymore." And then Scott left.

"What's his problem, huh?"

John shrugged and then slipped into the pool.

"Fine, don't talk then." Virgil muttered to himself. Sighing, he joined his three siblings in the water.

_Jeff Tracy's office;_

A sharp knock at the door brought Jeff's head up, enquiringly he called for the visitor to enter. He frowned slightly at the figure that entered, the casually dressed form of his eldest son, normally so crisply attired when talking to his father.

"Can I speak with you for a moment, Father?"

"Of course, Scott. What's on your mind?"

The youngest of the pair present remained standing, while Jeff walked around to the front of his desk, closing the distance between himself and his son. There, he perched on the edge of the wooden piece.

"The other day, I… Well, I made a bit of a fuss over the whole rescue-thing." Scott spat the sentence out as fast as he could, looking directly at the floor, not daring to find eye contact with the man he admired most.

Jeff nodded, not verbally interrupting his child.

"I guess… Well, that's to say…" He paused, grappling for the right words. "I mean, I was wrong. Virge's accident made me see that. I can't even being to imagine what it would be like to lose him." Shocking-blue eyes remained fixed to the floor. "I don't want anyone else to have to experience that." He finished quietly.

Contemplating this for a moment, the Tracy patriarch looked intently at his eldest.

"That doesn't mean you were wrong, son."

"No. _That _doesn't, but I was wrong to doubt you had the other's best interests at heart. That's where I was wrong."

Knowing Scott was just like himself, head-strong and sure of himself, Jeff could almost see quite how much it had taken for the teenager to admit all this.

"Thank you."

A simple recognition of the effort the young boy had gone to.

And that was all it took, two words. Scott brought his head upwards, allowing himself to look at his father properly, suddenly unashamed of his accepted error, and smiled.

_Back at the pool, a little while later;_

"You speak to Dad?"

John raised himself out of the water, droplets falling from his body as they did from Victoria Falls' high sides. He stood in the fading light, slim body somehow depicting a look of strength, but maybe it was just something inside that was giving him that kind-of glow. Scott hoped that now maybe he had that same look about himself.

"Yeah."

Close brothers stood watching each other for a moment, and then Scott turned to look at the three youngest boys playing together in the pool. John followed his gaze.

"And it's all going to be just fine. Fabulous you could almost say."

John smiled.

"No one says 'fabulous' anymore, Scott. It's 'fab'."

Scott laughed.

"Whatever, Johnny. Fab. Fabulous. It makes no difference to me."

"It does to me though. It's the difference of five letters."

"Huh?"

"Fabulous is eight letters, Scott."

"So? Charged by the letter are you?"

"No, but fab _is_ just three."

"Oh, right. Three." Scott said distractedly, his mind currently residing in other places.

"That's right, Scott. F. A. B."

"I can spell, Johnny."

Ducking the light punch sent his way, the blond smiled.

"I don't doubt it, Scott. I just don't trust it."

Frowning Scott edged closer to John.

"You make no sense at all, half the time."

The fifteen year old shrugged. "At least I make sense for the other half."

"Well, if you don't care…"

With that, Scott pushed his younger brother into the pool where he was immediately swamped with vicious splashes and attacks from his other siblings. Happy with the world at the moment, the seventeen year old never noticed the two hands reach up out of the water, dripping cool liquid all over the wooden decking, but he came crashing back into reality as his legs were pulled out from under him and his vision blurred as all he saw was water.

Indeed, he was definitely right. Everything was going to work out fine.

And three and a half years, and a lot of hard, bone tiring work later, International Rescue (as it finally became known) and the finished Thunderbirds, launched on their first mission.


End file.
